


Just Checking

by OctoberSkies



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dorian Pavus Backstory, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Halward Pavus' A+ Parenting, M/M, Memories, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Mentions of Past Abuse, Tumblr Prompt, pavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:23:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5081047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSkies/pseuds/OctoberSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varlen Lavellan is lying comfortably beside Dorian one night when the man suddenly wakes up, shaken from his sleep by what could only have been a nightmare. Varlen soon finds out that not everything is so easy to run from, and that, despite the benefit of time and distance, bitter memories from the past can continue to burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Checking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Tumblr angst prompt: “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere."

It was a night like any other. Varlen lay quietly beside Dorian on the bed, his arm draped lazily over his eyes, content to just listen to his lover’s gentle breaths as they rose and fell in the empty air. The rhythm was always soothing – it lulled him to sleep most nights better than any bard’s song ever could. Even just knowing he was there… so close. Warm, and scented with spice and wine. Varlen felt a tender smile play across his lips in the dark, and he wondered when it would be okay to tell him that he loved him.

As he let his mind drift, there was a strange break in Dorian’s steady breaths, and Varlen stayed completely still as he felt the man shift beside him. Not the typical, unconscious movement one makes in their sleep, but one that was intentional, the bed beneath him moving to accommodate for the change in position. Varlen waited for a moment, before judging from the sound of Dorian’s ragged inhalations that he was sitting up. From behind his arm, Varlen frowned. Something was wrong.

“Dorian?”

The man almost jumped out of his skin, a tight yelp actually shaking from his lips before he could stifle it. As Varlen uncovered his face, he glanced across to see Dorian’s hand pressed to his chest, his eyes wide and framed by distressed lines that Varlen had only ever seen a few times in the past.

“ _Kaffas_ – I thought you were asleep!” The words shot from Dorian’s lips like arrows as he swallowed away the last of his surprise. Trembling slightly, he reached up and swiped his hand over his face, wiping away the sheen of moisture that clung to his skin as Varlen propped himself up beside him.

“Sorry.” He smirked slightly; a ploy to mask his worry. “Are you… feeling alright?”

“Yes, I…” Dorian paused, the words seeming to get stuck in his throat. He took a moment, his eyes trained upon his hands, fingers left curling upwards on his lap. “… _No_. I don’t think I am, actually.”

That was all Varlen needed to hear. He pulled back the covers so he could turn and face Dorian, crossing his legs and reaching out to take the man’s hand. Dorian responded with a gentle squeeze, although he still could not bring himself to look at him. Varlen’s heart tightened at that, but he did his best to ignore it. Now was not the time to start feeling insecure; this wasn’t about _him_.

“Was it a bad dream?” Varlen prompted as patiently as he could when Dorian made no attempt to fill the silence. The man nodded, wetting lips that had suddenly gone dry.

“You could say that. Although more of a bad _memory_ , if I am to be perfectly honest.”

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

“No,” Dorian’s response was delivered on shaky laugh that was devoid of any mirth, “but I probably should, yes? Get it off my chest. _Alight on the cathartic wings of confession_.”

“Maybe, but I won’t force you to.” Varlen couldn’t keep the perplexed frown off his face. Sometimes he wasn’t sure what it was Dorian wanted him to say. If he was overstepping his boundaries, or being too pushy.

Or perhaps he was not trying hard enough.

Again, the pair lapsed into a heavy silence. The only sound came from their alternating breaths, which still unconsciously managed to synchronise despite the tension in the room. Varlen elected to wait. Dorian would speak when he was ready. He watched as the man’s brow flickered intermittently, as though thoughts were sparking behind those grey eyes, making the muscles twitch. After a moment, his lips curled into a bitter smile beneath his perfect moustache.

“I suppose you deserve to know all the lurid details of my past depravities, seeing as we _are_ sharing a bed.” His voice was flippant as always, but there was an edge to it that bit like steel, and Varlen felt himself flinch slightly at the words. But he did not release Dorian’s hand, even when he felt the man experimentally try to retract it, as though he believed he was doing him a favour by breaking contact. Feeling the resistance, Dorian gave up the attempt, instead gripping it a little tighter.

“That’s not why I’m asking, Dorian…” Varlen felt the words roll off his tongue, but they were soft. Uncertain. He didn’t want to make this harder, or _worse_. He’d never had much of a way with words. Not in situations like this. But Dorian’s gaze lifted momentarily, fixing upon him, and softening slightly as it did so.

“I _know_ , amatus.” A sigh shattered his breath, and he turned his face back down to his lap. “I… Maker, it sounds ridiculous saying it out loud. I was… _checking_.”

“Checking? For what?” Varlen tilted his head – a habit of his that Dorian never ceased to delight in pointing out. But for once, he just… let it slide. A bark of laughter left him instead, breathless and as short as Cassandra’s patience.

“Why, that you were… _ah_ …” Dorian scrubbed at his face with his free hand, pausing to press against his eyes as though it would somehow make things easier. Maintaining that position, he finished his response. “… _still there_.”

“Why? Did you expect me to run out on you or something?” Varlen wasn’t angry; truthfully, he still wasn’t completely sure what was going on. But a part of him hurt to hear those words from Dorian’s lips. Didn’t he understand how much he meant to him?

“No, it’s not… it’s not _that_.” Dorian’s hasty reply brought Varlen out of his reverie, and he just swallowed, willing the man to continue speaking. He wanted to know, and he believed Dorian _needed_ to tell him, as difficult as it might prove to be.

“It was… _some_ time ago. Back when I lived in Tevinter.” Dorian’s words shook, but he took a moment and ran his thumb absently over the back of Varlen’s hand, which seemed to calm him enough to continue. “I… ah, Maker, I _loathe_ bringing up previous lovers when I am in bed with my current one…”

“It’s alright.” Varlen reassured him softly. He didn’t care. Neither of them were saints – it wasn’t exactly news. Dorian gave him a faltering smile and continued.

“Very well. His name was… Caius Abrexis. A good enough young man – could tell gold from a fool without batting an eyelid. We became involved after a short bout of chess. _He_ opened with King’s Gambit, of all things. Had an eye for strategy… for _risk_.

“Well, we spent a few evenings together, safe and sound behind closed doors, of course. You can never be too careful, no? A whisper amongst magisters travels quicker than even the fastest of your Spymaster’s ravens. Well, evidently we were not careful enough.”

Varlen bit his lip as Dorian trailed off with a shake of his head, as though angry at himself. Varlen squeezed his hand in a way he hoped was comforting.

“So I take it someone found out? Spread a rumour?”

“Oh, _someone_ found out, certainly.” Dorian spat, his nose crinkling in distaste. “My dear father, of all blighted people. No doubt one of his so-called ‘friends’ felt it necessary to inform him of my nightly _activities_.”

“But _why_?” Varlen knew he shouldn’t interrupt, but the mere premise seemed so… _ridiculous_. What was it to anyone who Dorian chose to sleep with? His question was greeted by a cold laugh.

“Oh amatus, when someone is determined to tear your family down from on height, they will find just about any way to do it. And if they can somehow remain on friendly terms after the fact? Why, _even better_.” He released Varlen’s hand, balling his own into fists as he swallowed, steeling himself to continue. Varlen retracted his arm back towards himself uncertainly, but said no more.

“He didn’t even have the decency to confront me himself, you know?” Dorian’s voice had weakened to a mere ghost of itself, but he forced himself to keep using it. “He hired a band of thugs to… ‘ _retrieve_ me’. They found us in bed together, like… well, like we are right now. Uncouth brutes didn’t even allow me to make myself decent before they dragged me out of the room. Right past… _right past_ all the bodies of Abrexis’ guardsmen.”

Dorian exhaled sharply, his face twisting into a strange expression of wry amusement and utter sickness. “Can you believe it? On my father’s orders, those men were _butchered_. All because of _me_.”

“Dorian, that’s not—” Varlen began to interject, but was silenced by a sharp gesture from the man, whose eyes blazed with a sudden, tempestuous fury.

“ _—Don’t_. I know what I did. I _knew_ the risks – the ruin that would descend upon my family if I was caught. Don’t you see? I was _negligent_. I’d become too comfortable in my own depravity to remember that I should be ashamed of it!” He took a shuddering breath as Varlen held his. “When I was brought before my father… I… _He_ …”

It was as though the words were rocks, lodged in his throat. Dorian hissed with a quiet grimace, his eyes closing slowly as he no doubt remembered the moment of his past. Relived it as though it was yesterday. Varlen wondered how many nights Dorian had gone through this pain while he slept beside him, oblivious.

“I was practically a prisoner in my own house. My _home_ , Varlen. The one place I was meant to feel safe. I was not permitted to leave my quarters. I could speak to no one. Maker’s breath; I couldn’t even send letters to friends, who no doubt were _burning_ with curiosity over my sudden departure from civilised society. Not that any of them ever tried to find me, mind you.” The last sentence was delivered with a bitter sting, and Varlen couldn’t help but wonder how Dorian could consider such people ‘friends’. The criteria must be very low in Tevinter.

“It was months before I managed to finally escape.”

 _That_ surprised Varlen, and he sat up a touch straighter, fixing Dorian with a look that barely touched the surface of his alarm.

“ _Months_? How could it have taken that long?”

“Truthfully? I… never really tried.” The words were a confession; an olive branch, extended towards his lover as penance for his transgressions. An admission that burned everything it touched. “A part of me believed my father might have been right. Right to lock me away. There was something _wrong with me_ , you see. I suppose I felt it was best - to be a _kept mage_ , if you like. After all, I could not give into temptation if it could not find me. It _made_ _sense_. But then… I caught word of his plan. You… ah, well, _you know the one._ ”

Varlen nodded slowly, his stomach churning at the mere thought of what Dorian’s father had been prepared to do to his own son. Of the consequences such magic could have held. It still horrified him.

“ _That_ was the moment I resolved to flee. I might have hated myself, amatus, but _never_ that much. I did not want to be altered. _Fixed_.” Those fists clenched tightly, positively shaking with a mixture of fury and resentment that boiled over and spilled into his words. “But no matter how far I go – no matter how much I _run_ … I can’t _stop.._.”

“… Can’t stop _what_ , Dorian?” Varlen wanted to reach out to the trembling man, but was worried it was the wrong move to make. Dorian had already closed himself off – shaken away his outstretched hand. Varlen didn’t want to push him. But when the Dorian fixed him with those grey eyes, utterly shattered beneath the weak light of the moon, Varlen felt his heart break in time with the single word that fell from his lips.

“ _Checking_.”

Varlen couldn’t hold himself back, not when he saw those so well contained tears finally spill over, rolling silently down Dorian’s cheeks as he quickly looked away, hoping to conceal them in the dark. He reached out, slowly at first, touching Dorian’s arm. Seeking permission. To his surprise, the man granted it, tipping sidewards to practically fall into Varlen’s chest, allowing the elven man to wrap him in his tight embrace. He didn’t sob. Of course he didn’t. He just shook, ever so slightly. It could have just as easily been from the cold. Varlen struggled to quell the fury that flared in his chest; burned in his lungs. How dare they? How dare _anyone_ make Dorian feel like he had to double check every window and every door before he could even sleep by his lover’s side? By _his_ side. How could his _own father_ …?

Varlen tilted his head down, pressing his lips to Dorian’s head as he cradled him tightly against his bare chest, soothing him to the sound of his beating heart. He stayed there for a while and closed his eyes, breathing in that exotic scent that followed the man like a fragrant shadow. If there was one thing Varlen would give the world to promise his lover, it was that he would never have to run again.

“Well… Sorry to disappoint you, Dorian. But I’m right here, and I’m not going _anywhere_."

Varlen felt Dorian suddenly shake in his embrace, and that musical laugh drifted up from his lips like a dove taking flight.

“ _Ah_. What a shame. Shall I begin sending out invitations to the wedding _now_ , or wait until morning?”

“Very funny, _emma lath_.”

Dorian’s ears perked up slightly, and the pair shifted to lie down, still entwined in one another’s arms.

“That’s a new one. I wonder what it might mean.” Dorian never asked outright for translations, but Varlen was used to it. He chuckled warmly, the sound rolling from his chest.

“I’ll tell you in the morning.”


End file.
